Completed Cold Front

[Inoadar]

9th of Winter, 513

Inoadar wondered if there was something wrong with his eyes. There had been no sign of this from the ferry. But then, the ferry had headed basically south from the city, so it really wasn't that surprising. When the ferry landed at the Southern Trading Post all had seemed normal enough. But once he neared the Northwest corner of the lakeshore, it changed.

He had been glad to see that his horse was being well cared for in spite of the anger he had incurred at Lakeshore stables. This was his new horse. He'd kept the name "Handy" but it was not a Zavian this time. That poor bastard had been eaten by a Balicani. The same Balicani whose wings now decorated one wall of Inoadar's shop, 'Ino Vations'. He had tried to save Old Handy, but, being slowed as he was from the first set of wounds the monster had inflicted, It had reached the terrified animal first. It was one of the few times Inoadar could remember shedding tears.

But those tears of regret, and shame at his failure to protect his animal, became tears of mad rage and vengeance. Without that strange woman, 'Kaie', to work with him, they could never have distracted the creature away so the barely eaten carcass could be spiked with the poison he'd given her. When the Balicani came back to gorge itself, the poison weakened it so much that it was effectively helpless against Inoadar's wrath.

He still got the impression that this 'Kaie', despite her own rather savage look, had been somewhat disturbed by the extent to which he went to maim the beast before finally killing it. He had found himself crying during that entire ordeal as well. It hadn't brought his old horse back, of course, but he had this strange sense of having sent a message to the entire world of what extremes he could be driven to. In the end, he'd felt satisfaction, cold, steaming, gory satisfaction. Then he'd taken the wings as a trophy.

He'd left them, and his belongings, there and walked back to the Lakeshore. Looking back, he could only assume that the smell of the Balicani on him had warded him from much of the hostility he usually endured from the wild animals around the lake, wolves in particular. He'd laughed right in the face of the crew minding the stables, telling them he needed a horse.

They then laughed back at him when he said he wished to simply keep the arrangements he'd made regarding his old horse in place, but couldn't pay for the new one until he retrieved his items and went back into town to get his money. The captain was away, so he proposed a wager to the youngster filling in, probably a nephew or something. He said he would suffer on foot instead and even pay double if he lost, but if he won they would give him the few days credit and regular cost for the Impure Ravok Bloodbane they had for sale.

When the kid asked what the bet was, and Inoadar gave him points for at least asking first, Inoadar told him that he could ask him any question on any subject, and if he answered correctly, he would win. Inoadar kept a straight face as some of the older men stifled smirks and guffaws. They knew this old trick, but had that trickster's honor of not interfering with a hard lesson in wit.

The Kid had jumped eagerly at the challenge, composing an elaborate question of a highly philosophical nature, thinking that he could draw on any sort of philosophy to claim that Inoadar's answer was wrong. For his part, Inoadar did not really even listen, but had to hand it to the kid for his own level of cunning. But he was doomed to fail, for when the kid finished proposing his almost essay-level question, Inoadar simply answered, "Correctly".

The men nearby exploded into roaring laughter, completely defending Inoadar's position and telling the kid to "take a lesson" and "man-up, boy" and "He could have bet you for ownership of the stable, junior, so count yourself lucky." Inoadar found himself feeling somewhat sorry for the lad and asked the men to say nothing of it, since the captain probably wouldn't be doing the books until season's end, and he'd have long since paid by then.

So he'd gotten his Bloodbane. It was funny at first, but quickly made sense. When Inoadar had gotten his first horse, he'd been intimidated by the large animal. But smelling like Balicani, and in a mood for no nonsense after his slaying of the beast, this new horse, normally a far more obstinate breed, was cowed quickly. It really hadn't even occurred to Inoadar that it would resist giving up its autonomy. It actually was more a case of Inoadar calming it with assurances that he was not going to kill it too. It also helped that it was apparently a slight lack of this trademark viciousness that was the reason that this was considered an "impure" specimen.

But this had all been back in mid Fall, and now the animal was as loyal as could be. And the kid had obviously taken the lesson and was man enough to bear no grudge. Inoadar had even heard about sharpened horseshoes, to give the mount some greater self defense capability, from the lad. Some of his recent adventures ashore had given him cause to look into such things.

But for now, both he and "Handy" stood in shocked confusion at the whitish landscape before them. He suddenly realized as well that he was colder than he'd ever been since coming to Ravok. Handy was skittish as he dismounted, the grass actually crunching beneath his boots. He got into a crouch and ran his hand across the grass, confirming it was frosted...frozen! 'What in Dira's Deeps in going on?'

OOCThis is to correct a timeline goof. This is the first mention of buying this horse, so deduct the 80gm

[Inoadar]

He led Handy across the frosted ground. Not so much out of consideration for his horse's burden, but out of the need for constant confirmation. He had seen such cold weather in Nyka, of course, but not since coming to Ravok. Rhysol's influence had always extended far enough that his lakeside travels never encountered winter phenomenons such as snow and ice.

He knew that if you traveled away from the lake, as he had several times, His Lord's temperate control of the weather waned to give up to normal patterns. But he had been out last winter and had gone far enough to see the sudden influx of cold. This had always served to remind him of Rhysol's benevolence. But this was right up to the lake's side. A chill mist hovered, sliding slowly across the watery threshold.

He continued on, trying to get his mind back on his purpose for leaving the city. He stopped in sudden concern. This weather was going to make the entire journey pointless. He did not know if it was too late or if haste might accomplish some salvage of his mission. He had embarked to bring in useful herbs with medicinal properties. The types to alleviate symptoms of illness, help patients sleep, build resistance to infection, help close wounds or any number of effects.

With the establishment of the NMSS, 'The Nitrozian-Moletta Sanitary Station' his new endeavor with Amolina and Valerius, he had hoped amass a stock of such herbs. Though the real aim of the research conducted there would be considerably less altruistic, there needed to be the appearance of good intent. And it was not as though they did not intend to do any good work there. But it would only be for the sake of those appearances. He did not truly believe in coddling the weak. But there was much use in herbs that deadened pain and put people to sleep, so they could be experimented on.

So he'd gone first to see Ruby at 'The Spicy Lass' and had cajoled and flirted and ultimately persuaded her to give him a hint of where he was likely to find some of the sorts of herbs he was looking for. She was only wiling to give this information up because these were not the types she sold herself. That, and the 50 gold mizas he gave her. He was somewhat put out to find merchants in The Peoples Market that confirmed these facts for nothing. 'I should have asked them first.' he muttered to himself.

Well, for now these were only the most basic herbs these people believed he would be able to identify, and to harvest successfully. There would be more complex and hard to find types he would search out later. The immediate problem was that the ones he had meant to search out would not be able to be harvested at this time of year anyway. There were a couple of types that might extend from Fall into early Winter. But with this frost, they were going to be killed off. He decided he may as well visit the locations he'd been given to see what was there. He reasoned the chances were good that the plants would still be there, if frost damaged, and he could see what to look for next time.

[Inoadar]

One of the spice vendors at the Market had let him take whiff of a pouch of Batonal. It was one of those mild aromas that you recognized as common in most cuisines. He recalled it often, as well, as a sickroom smell for people suffering from stomach ailments, though it had been a long time since he'd worked such a place. Not since Zeltiva, where it was used as commonly as a seasick remedy as it was a spice, had he worked among such stricken weaklings.

He'd smelled it a time or two on the Ravok ferry to shore, but hadn't bothered to investigate whether it was a spice on someone's carried breakfast, or on the breath of some poor fool hanging on the rail. He'd thought it would be a good thing to pick up for the NMSS. Anything that could reinforce a patient's belief that they were receiving worthwhile concoctions would be of use. Rhysol knew they'd be needing help to keep some of the potions that HE intended to feed them down.

It took Inoadar several dismounts and crouching searches to find a patch of the herb. There was no obvious color to give away its location, though the frost was likely to conceal any color scheme anyway. It was only the rounded leaves that revealed it to be Batonal. He gathered some up, feeling it likely that there would be no benefit to be found in these specimens. This was not only because the leaves looked dried out and broke off easily, rather than having to be pinched off. But also because they held no aroma. This could possibly be attributed to the frost, but he doubted it.

It was only because these were normally harvested in the recently passed Fall season that he'd had any hope of collecting any that could be used in the first place. But still, it was good to locate a spot where it grew, and to see what such a patch looked like from a distance. Next year, or perhaps even in the near future here, it may sprout new leaves if this odd cold spell passed and the landscape returned to its Rhysol-blessed warmth. Then if Market vendors beat him to this spot, he'd know how to find another.

It occurred to him that he was not sure which process yielded the useful result, so he spent a full bell plucking the frosty leaves and filling a bag with them. He wondered if Vera, his new apprentice of sorts, may have experience with this plant. She'd surprised him more than once already.

Satisfied that he'd harvested enough of this plant, he mounted back up and rode on at a trot to the next location he'd been given directions to. "Handy" did not like this frost and was "dancing" just a bit with his steps, forcing Inoadar to lock his legs a bit tighter than was comfortable.

[Inoadar]

He rode on toward rising hills to the northeast. He passed a spot where he had camped when he was doing a job from The Spot to conduct an interrogation at the KRI. It had not turned out to be a sanctioned activity by the Institute, the Ebonstryfe or the Nitrozian family. Inoadar smirked a bit at the thought of how much trouble he might have gotten into, but how his foiling of what was really going on there served to bring him the favor of all three.

He thought he might go back out there sometime and see what was what with Doctor Alzelin. But for now, he was looking for evidence of Jile. As with the Batonal, he didn't expect to find a thicket ripe for harvest. But he hoped to find confirmation of the plant's existence and appearance for future reference. Ruby had hinted that, being an evergreen bush, it was hardier than a flowering shrub and might endure with a semi-potent yield into the winter season.

He was both disappointed and rewarded to find that he'd confused the location and had, instead of Jile, had come across a small knot of Brinetooth, a less common herb. He'd been about to curse in frustration at what he thought was misdirection, when he saw that some of what he'd thought were pebbles, were in fact, berries. There were very few of them and they were nearly as hard as pebbles, but a thaw back at the shop might make them workable. The wide, shortly tapered leaves were an identifying feature as well.

When he tried to crouch down and dig through the short, tough stems of the hedge-like clump, a single branch broke through and whipped him across his cheek. He recoiled with a hiss, but a flash of reminiscence brought him back to his days in Sunberth. He smiled with the memory of how his first craft master use to whip him across the face with a riding crop in much the same fashion. He smiled wider at the memory of using his blowgun to "introduce" the jolly old fellow to the agonies of the paralyzing dorsal spines of some of the aquatic specimens he learned about when he'd spent a year in Zeltiva.

The spines required very little modification to be "blowgun-ready". But they were lethal, and he didn't have the skill at the time. So he'd spent his first free wage to buy just a single dart. The sight of his first master, writhing and pissing his pants, his best attempt at screaming coming out as little more than a gurgle, was still one of Inoadar's most cherished memories. It was especially gratifying to enter the room and ask the old shyke if he could still feel the pain even after the paralysis set in.

He laughed again, his hand instinctively going to the new weal on his cheek at the memory of his taunting with mock sympathy at the feigned realization that...'oh...how silly of me...you can't answer...you're paralyzed.' And how he crouched to pat the old boy's cheek, harder than he needed to, and comforted him with the assurance that he...'won't suffer much longer...soon you'll be dead.'

He rose with a handful of questionable berries, and stretched his back and legs, reliving the conviction that they had been 'mizas well spent'. He put the berries in one of his small jars and mounted up again. There was higher ground ahead. Hopefully he'd find the Jile he'd been looking for here.

[Inoadar]

He stopped at the sound of distant wolves. 'Now there was a feature of multiple memories,' he thought with a scowl. He'd fought them alongside Ariella, as well as Irriari. He'd expected to fight them alongside Kaie, but they'd stayed away that time. He'd poisoned some, both directly and indirectly. He'd sat in a tree and waited them out until more immediate prey drew them off. He'd hidden from them in the water of the lake, breathing through the shaft of his blowgun. He'd driven them off with a series of fire traps, and, the oldest solution, outrun them on his horse. He was fortunate to be close enough to the Southern Trading Post for the scent of so many men to give them pause, or they'd have probably run him down.

The one beneficial aspect of it was that he'd amassed enough experience that he could quickly tell that they were chasing down some other prey and were not aware of him. Assuming they caught whatever unfortunate victim they were after. He could hear the responding howls coming from further and further away, like a child listening to the thunder taking ever longer after distant strokes of lightning. Soon there were no further howls and Inoadar felt a brief pang of sympathy for the poor man or beast being dismembered. He could only hope its throat was ripped out quickly.

Many chimes later, it was all forgotten as Inoadar located what he thought was the Jile shrub. 'Is that large enough to be called a tree?' he pondered as he approached, marking the green nettles sprouting here and there among the branches. He'd heard there would be berries, regardless of the time of year, but it looked like even the windfall had been collected by some earlier gatherer. That was not to say there were no buds, but nothing that was ripe enough to call a berry. It was also hard to detect any scent of evergreen in the frigid temperature, but he marked the location just the same.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar continued on across the foothills, looking now for Tolm, collected for the sleep aid tonic that could be made from its roots. But whatever chemical served as base for the relaxant apparently was not produced during non-flowering seasons, because no one gathered it unless the tops were bunched with blooms of red. But since the petals were not used,there had to be a correlation between what enzymes were present in the roots and the growth of flowers.

He had seen several batches of slim stiff stems bearing fuzzy, serrated leaves. He made a note and was considering turning back to town when he saw something odd on the trunk of a tree. There was a fungal growth that looked strangely deformed. It was only his experience with such things that caused him to notice this. Most people would assume that any shape of fungus was relatively normal. That there was no such thing as a malformed shape for such a parasitic growth. But as he rode over to see if he was seeing double or something, he also noticed wisps of steam curling up from the base of the fungal shelf, which curved down at both ends and mutated into a row of short, wart-like bumps.

On further examination, he saw mushrooms at the base of nearby trunks that displayed the same effect. The traditional umbrella heads waned as the patch got closer to the steaming spot, the thin stems getting wider and the heads disappearing altogether to result in a similar looking run of bumps.

He touched a gloved fingertip to both the bumps and the trunk around them and found both to be soft, despite the cold. This explained the steam, he thought. He retrieved a jar from his saddle and poked his dagger at an angle into the trunk, digging out a layer of softened wood. There was liquid underneath that had tiny rows of bubbles along the edge of where the softness seemed to begin. He scraped what he could into his jar from all the spots he found suffering this odd affliction, figuring this to be worth researching back at the shop.

On a whim he dug up a few sample of Tolm root to test. He didn't expect any results, but even that would be a result. On the way back to the ferry, he had an additional spontaneous notion. He went off the track into nearby trees and smeared some of this liquid on other tree trunks where fungus was prevalent. This fungus was not a toxic sort, though it was not edible either, but he thought it would be worth seeing if that mattered.

[Inoadar]

But this was something it would probably take until near the end of the season to confirm. If he had cause to come to the shore again any time soon, he would check the treeline here and see if this fungus had taken...root...or rather mycelium.

Inoadar returned to the ferry, taking up some of the wait time to water and brush down Handy and hand feed him an apple and some oats. He asked the Captain if any of the sharpened horse shoes were available. The Captain snorted and told him to see an armorer for such things, maybe even a weaponsmith. "Look around pal, we carry bit and bridle, but not barding or any extravagances like that."

Inoadar made another mental note to do that, figuring he'd probably forget by morning. He made a check list of what he'd gathered. He intended to purchase some of the same items, already in finished form, to use as control subjects while he ran his samples through their paces. He didn't expect to find potency in his out of season pickings, but they should process the same. If nothing else, he'd know for sure whether he was even processing the right parts.

He went through the People's Market, gathering a small stock to work with at his shop. He gave 2 gold mizas to a vendor of berry products to acquire 4 ounces of Brinetooth paste and another 2 for a small bag of Jile berries, enough to keep some at his shop and the new NMSS. He had heard they were a quick general anti-toxin, and he figured it would be a good thing to have at both locations. He also thought to try a work-back and see if he could find a way to make his poisons resistant to whatever was in the berries.

He found a vendor selling potatoes and carrots and such. He also had a variety of roots, including Tolm. Inoadar bought a 20 ounce bag for a gold. They were already dry, so any processes he did with them would start with the assumption that drying them would be the first step. The same was true of the 20 ounce bag of Batonal that cost him another gold. He left the Market and returned to his shop to begin his comparative experimentation.

[Abstract]

Grade Awarded!

Inoadar

Skills

~ Rhetoric - 1
~ Observation - 4
~ Herbalism - 3
~ Riding - 1

Lores

~ Batonal: Useless in a Frost (Probably)
~ Jile: Better in a Frost
~ Identifying Malformed Fungi

Other

- 54 gm
+ All the herbs gathered

Notes

A good thread!